Nojuku tomo Koinonayami
by Mistress-Samwise
Summary: [Pre-LOTR] Sam's life gets a whole lot madder after Merry, banned from Brandy Hall for drinking too much, recommends going on a camping trip with Frodo... and Sam’s invited, of course. Things can only go wrong from here.[PG-13 for language and fluffy F/
1. Chapter One: Shokubai ::The Catalyst::

Nojuku tomo Koinonayami: Keikendan Sam-kun  
"The Pain of Love and Camping: Sam's Story"

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Mistress-Samwise: Huzzah! This has got to be on my favorites. It's just so dang funny, and it's even a little light on the angst and slash, so it's fun for everyone!

So, you're prolly wondering why I decided to use Japanese words for the title and chapter titles. Well, you see, if I had the time/money/resources/manpower this would be an anime. While you're reading this, imagine everything going on in anime. It's freaking hilarious that way. Plus, I've slipped some anime-like things into this story, like Sam's nosebleed later on and stuff I borrowed from Neon Genesis Evangelion (like the major point in this story. You'll see what I mean.). The only thing is that I hope I'm using the right words. ^__^;;; Heh-heh. So, if any of you know Japanese and spot something wrong with any of my titles, tell me and I'll change it right away.

Anywho… Sit back and enjoy _Nojuku tomo Koinonayami: Keikendan Sam-kun_! Arigatou! *_bows_*

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        Sam stood in front of the door entering into Bag End. He had been standing there for quite some time, his hand in a fist, halfway raised to the door, ready to knock it. His other hand was in a fist, also, tightly clenched at his side. His mind, on the other hand, was blank as he stared at the door just a few inches away from his face. Usually, he would be running over a list of things to say once the door was answered, but this time, he was not so lucky to be capable for such activity.

        Just then, the door swung open. Behind it, Frodo was intently getting his arm through his overcoat sleeve as his other hand laid upon the doorknob. Sam was frozen, his fist still hanging in midair. He was just about to open his mouth when Frodo looked up from his coat.

        "Oh!" he exclaimed. "Hello, Sam."

        Sam gave a quick jolt of surprise. "G-Good mornin', sir," he managed to say. His mind continued to go blank. They both stood there for a moment, waiting for something to happen. Sam suddenly remembered about his hand and stuffed it, along with the other, into his pockets; a normal and rather instinctive habit of his. Frodo finished buttoning up his coat and let out a sigh.

        "So," he said, grinning amusedly. "How long have you been out here this time?"

        Sam's lips moved wordlessly as he struggled to let out even the most intelligible of sounds. Frodo chuckled and patted Sam's shoulder.

        "That's alright," he replied. "You've saved me a bit of trouble anyway."

        "I have, sir?" Sam squeaked incredulously.

        "Yes, you have, if you can believe it," Frodo stated. "I was just on my way out to the market to fetch some things, and it's always so dreadfully lonely going all by myself, so I thought you might have liked coming along."

        "Sir!" Sam hiccupped. "Of course, sir!"

        Frodo made a gentle smile. "Oh, please don't sound so shocked when I ask you something. You remind me of a frightened rabbit sometimes."

        "Sorry, sir," Sam mumbled, blushing.

        "And you don't always need to keep calling me 'sir'."

        Sam gave Frodo a serious look. "Now, you know I can't do that, Mister Frodo."

        Frodo sighed. "Yes, Sam, I do. But I thought that since we're friends, you might like to try to be a bit more casual. I hope I don't impose all this stuffy formality on you."

        "No, sir, but I do this on my own accord, thank you very much."

        Frodo shook his head. "Samwise Gamgee… When will you stop acting like your father and start becoming your own person?"

        Sam looked very hurt at Frodo's remark. He nervously turned his back on his master and blushed darkly, clenching his fists in his pockets.

        "Now, Mister Frodo…" he murmured, sounding deeply hurt. "Don't you go talking to your Sam like that…"

        Frodo frowned and lowered his eyes ashamedly. "I apologize, Sam," he cooed. "That was not very polite of me."

        Sam swung around on his heels. "Oh, no, no, no, sir!" he cried quickly, taking Frodo's hands in his and gripping them tightly. "It's all my fault, Mister Frodo. There no need for apologizin'. _I _should apologize for overreactin'--"

        "That's kind of you to say, Sam," Frodo answered. He looked up at Sam's worried eyes. "But you can't always take the blame for the mistakes that I make. I know you're trying to help me when you do that, and I thank you for your concern, but I think I can handle things by myself now."

        Frodo smiled kindly and slowly slid his hands out of Sam's grasp. Blushing even brighter, Sam wrenched his eyes away from Frodo's icy blue ones and settled them on the floor in front of his feet. He said nothing, too nervous to speak.

        "There, there, Sam…" Frodo wrapped an arm around Sam's shoulder and gently squeezed him. "I am glad you care so much about me. Please don't think I hate you for that. You are one of my closest friends, after all."

        Sam's eyes were wide as saucers as he felt Frodo's arm about him. His whole body went stiff and Frodo drew himself away from Sam, his brow creased in worry.

        "I'm sorry," Frodo stated. "I should remember you don't like me doing that."

        Sam said nothing, his eyes still huge and his jaw tightly clenched shut.

        "Someday, you'll be ready to be my friend," Frodo continued. "Please alert me of it when you find the proper date."

        Sam gulped and shook his head as Frodo passed by him, out onto the front step. Frodo turned around.

        "Now," Frodo said, grinning, back to his usual self again. "Are you coming or not?"

        Sam gave a small flinch of surprise and stepped outside, closing the door behind himself.

        It was late June. Frodo was thirty-five years old and Sam was twenty-two. It had been fourteen years since Frodo was moved to Hobbiton, twelve since the fire, and seven since he saw his last of Dreena. It had been nearly five years since Bilbo had disappeared from the Shire, leaving his heir, Frodo, all of Bag End, its contents wherein, and a ring.

        "Yes," Frodo stated as he walked out through the front gate. "It is a nice day out today."

        "As handsome a day as any other, sir," Sam replied.

        "If you insist…" Frodo stooped to pick a morning glory off its vine tangled around a fencepost.

        "These are coming in beautiful this year," Frodo commented, spinning the blossom between his thumb and forefinger.

        "You truly think so, Mister Frodo?" Sam asked shyly. "I planted them myself this spring."

        "And you did a fine job, if I should say so myself."

        Sam made no reply, save for the deep reddening of his cheeks. Frodo just smiled and continued walking.

        For many minutes, neither had said anything, both perfectly content with the silence. The day was indeed very pleasant and more than made up for the lack of words between the two hobbits. While Frodo had been admiring the beauty of the landscape around him, Sam had been staring nervously at the ground in front of himself, his hands in his pockets. Beside him, he could hear Frodo let out a soft sigh. Sam slowly looked up at him.

        He couldn't help but admire the beauty of Frodo's face as it glowed brightly in the sunlight. His eyes scanned the gentle curve of Frodo's lips and jaw, down his pale throat. The first two buttons on his shirt were undone, so Sam could see the shadowy dip in Frodo's collarbone. Looking back up at Frodo's hallow cheekbones, Sam remembered just how slender Frodo was; he was certainly unlike any hobbit Sam had seen. But Sam had then come to the conclusion that his master looked more like an elf than a hobbit, for if it wasn't for his ashen complexion and slight body, it was for his eyes.

        Sam shyly brought himself to gaze upon Frodo's icy blue eyes. They would seem warm and yet cutting at times, and although Sam thought them the loveliest feature, he was, at times, terrified to look into them. To look into them was to stare into Frodo's soul. It was bright and keen, almost too much so for Sam to bear. But the brilliance of Frodo's spirit was what made Sam fall in love with him.

        Sam was so enthralled with staring at Frodo, that he didn't notice that they both had stopped walking. Frodo was standing there with his arms folded across his chest, silently waiting for Sam to say something as Sam stared at him unblinkingly.

        "Yes?" Frodo asked eventually. He was tapping his foot impatiently. "Can I help you?"

        It took Sam a few moments to realize what was happening. He gave a small jump of surprise.

        "N-No, sir," Sam stammered. "I-I don't need nothin', thank you."

        Frodo frowned, slightly bewildered. "Whatever you say." He started walking off again. Sam lagged far behind, his hands in his pockets and his face burning red.

        "You're a fool, Samwise Gamgee," he muttered to himself. "Starin' at Mister Frodo like that… Get your head out of the clouds and your feet on the ground or else people'll think you're one more screw loose."

        For the rest of the little trip, Sam stayed a distance away from Frodo. He had embarrassed himself too many times in one day. But he still managed to hold for him the neatly wrapped package of goods that Frodo had purchased, even though Frodo had insisted on carrying it himself.

        "You try to spare me too much sometimes," Frodo said as they were making their way back to Bag End.

        "It's my job, Mister Frodo," Sam replied. "You've got enough to worry about." Sam, in truth, never quite figured that part out, because Frodo seemed to only read and sleep now that Bilbo was gone.

        "It's no use with you," Frodo stated, letting out a groan. He threw his arms up. "Why do I even bother?"

        Sam couldn't help but chuckle, but quickly stopped once they turned the corner for Bag End. In front of the door, there was a hobbit pounding madly and yelling at the top of his lungs.

        "Come on, Frodo!" the hobbit shouted. "I know you're in there! This isn't funny!"

        Frodo stopped, too, and stared at the spectacle. Soon, an amused grin grew on his face.

        "Please don't break the door, Merry," Frodo called. "Or Bilbo will break you."

        Merry whirled around.

        "Is that so, dear cousin?" Merry called back, putting his hands on his hips. "And where, pray tell, is he?"

        "I don't know, but I'm sure the instant you break something of his, he'll be here so fast it'll be like the time you stole all that chocolate from his pantry."

        They both started laughing. Sam just blinked.

        "Come on," Frodo said. "Let me open that door for you."

        Frodo continued up the Hill to Bag End, with Sam tagging behind. Soon, the door was open conventionally and the three hobbits stepped into the corridor. Merry quickly removed the knapsack off his back and shoved it into Sam's arms before turning to face Frodo.

        "Well?"

        "Welcome back to Bag End, Merry," Frodo stated while giving his cousin a big hug. Merry slapped Sam on the back.

        "Hey there, Sam! It's been a while."

        Sam blushed surprisedly. "H-Hello, Mister Merry…"

        "Still the shy, little hobbitlad, aren't we? But you certainly don't look like one anymore." Merry poked at Sam's muscular arm. "What do you make him do, Frodo? Lift those heavy Elvish books of your uncle's?"

        One thing anyone could admit was true about Samwise Gamgee is that he looked far from out-of-shape. Like every normal hobbit, he certainly ate well enough, for he was as good a weightlifter as a cook.  He was turning out to be a very handsome tweenager, indeed.

        "I don't know how he does it," Frodo said, poking at Sam, too. "But he's certainly making the rest of us look bad, am I right?"

        Frodo and Merry started laughing. Sam just blinked, his face the reddest it's ever been and his body visibly trembling.

        "Good heavens!" Merry exclaimed, looking over at Sam's face. "Is he always this uptight?"

        "I guess you could say that," Frodo replied. "But lately, he's been acting stranger than usual."

        "S-Sir," Sam whimpered. "I'm standin' right here…"

        "I'm sorry, Sam," Frodo chuckled. "It's just that sometimes I wonder if the only reason you're my friend is because you're so amusing."

        Sam frowned, looking very, very hurt. "M-Mister Frodo!"

        "Oh, Sam, I'm only kidding around," Frodo said, trying to comfort the injured hobbit. "We'll stop now, right, Merry?"

        Merry shook his head wildly in agreement. Frodo casually laid an arm on Sam's shoulder.

        "Oh, come on, Sam," he said, smiling. "I'll make everyone some tea. Will that make you feel better?"

        "Only if I do it for you, sir," Sam answered meekly, his face flushed.

        Frodo nodded his head. "Of course, of course. How can I forget?"

        After a few minutes, Sam contently served his peers as they talked amongst each other.

        "If I may be so bold to ask, Merry," Frodo said, swirling the tea around in his mug. "Exactly _why_ are you here on such short notice?"

        "Ah, I knew you'd ask that," Merry replied. "For you see, I had gotten myself into a tad of trouble with my dad and… uh… long story short, I decided to come here for a couple of days." He smiled widely. Frodo let out a groan.

        "Mer-ry…" Frodo rubbed his eyes and clenched his jaw. "What did you do _this_ time?"

        "What I did is not really important--"

        "Merry. Tell me."

        "It was a only a little mishap with…"

        "With…?"

        "With… some…" He mumbled the last word under his breath. Frodo stared at him grimly.

        "Merry. Tell me, or you're out."

        Letting out a sigh, Merry shifted nervously in his chair,

        "I had a little too much ale and… passed out in the living room."

        Frodo laughed loudly until he had to gasp for air.

        "Hah! Twenty-nine years old and only the first time? But you are certainly living up to the name Brandybuck nicely. And I'm sure you ran all the way here to tell me that, right?"

        "Actually… That's another thing. You see (and this is the funny part) my father didn't yell at me. He just stood there with that look he makes (you know… _that one?), and he just sort of groaned. rubbed his temples, and said 'I don't even want to look at you right now.'. So, I said 'I can leave, if you like.'. He said 'Yes… I would do that if I were you.'. He then continued to look even worse, and I said 'Maybe I'll just go to Frodo's.'. He said 'Anywhere but here.' and proceeded to grasp at his head in pain. So… That's how I ended up here."_

        Frodo chuckled and leaned back in his chair.

        "Well… You have certainly caught me unprepared for entertaining. If you told me you were coming (which you couldn't have, I know), I would have cleared all those books and manuscripts out of the guest room--"

        Merry cut in. "I had a little bit of a different idea, Frodo. No offence, but you're not the first I'd consider as the perfect model for a host." Merry grinned as Frodo gave him a cutting stare. "I thought it would be a great idea if we took a camping trip, just like when we were lads."

        "Brilliant!" Frodo exclaimed. "It would be like old times, wouldn't it? You trying for an hour trying to get a fire started while I attempt pitching a tent that won't collapse on us in the middle of the night and all the while it's raining sheets…"

        Merry and Frodo laughed heartily and continued to reminisce. Sam just blinked, drained his mugs of its last few drops of tea, and stood from his chair. He was about to push it back under the table when Merry noticed his leaving.

        "Oh, and you can come with us too, Sam, if you'd like." Merry didn't even notice Sam's face grow more and more red as he continued talking. "We really could use another person, seeing as Frodo and I can barely set up a tent properly, let alone even survive by our selves."

        "M-Me, M-Mister Merry?" Sam stuttered incredulously, grasping onto the back of the chair to keep himself from falling over.

        Merry let out a chuckle. "Yes, you." He smiled slyly. "What's the matter? Too afraid to go?"

        "N-No!" Sam replied, turning an even brighter red. "It's just… It's just that I never went on a campin' trip before…"

        "Well, there's a first time for everything," Merry stated, amused at Sam's previous outrageous reactions. Sam turned to his master, nervously fiddling with the cuff on his left sleeve.

        "Is that alright, Mister Frodo, sir?" Sam asked timidly.

        Frodo smiled. "Of course, Sam! I was just about to ask you about that myself." While Sam blushed shyly, Frodo turned to his cousin. "I think that we should get everything ready tonight and set out in the morning. I'm sure you would like to get at least one good night of sleep, right?"

        "One that won't result in a hang-over, I assure you," Merry said while nodding. He got up from his seat and started walking off. "Well, I've got everything I need…"

        Frodo pulled Merry back by the shirt. "Where do you think you're going? You may be company, but you still need to help get everything together. I'm sure you remember where the tent is."

        "Yes," Merry answered sarcastically. "It's in the shed." He closed his eyes and raised his eyebrows nonchalantly. "What of it?"

        "Go and get it, Merry," Frodo replied plainly and pointed towards the door. Merry stuck out his tongue and tromped off. Sam was just about to say something before Frodo cut him off.

        "Before you volunteer to fetch the tent the yourself, Sam, I'll have you know he brought this on himself." He grinned. "That tent must weigh at least sixty pounds." Sam was about to say something else, but he was cut off again. "And, yes, there is something else you can help out with." Sam looked confused.

        "I need you to get your things together so that we'll all be ready tomorrow morning," Frodo continued. "We'll most likely being stopping on the way for breakfast--"

        "No we won't, Mister Frodo," Sam broke in, shaking his head. "None of us will be taking even one step outside without a proper meal."

        "Then it's settled," Frodo stated resolutely. "You'll get your things ready tonight, bring it all over here, stay the night, and then make us all breakfast before we go. How does that sound?"

        Sam once again resumed his usual flushed complexion. "If you want me to, sir."

        "It would certainly make things more convenient," Frodo added. "Now, if you excuse me, I must go check on my cousin to see if he hasn't gotten trapped underneath all that canvas."

        Sam watched as Frodo left the room. Shortly after, there was a loud cry from Merry.

        "Frodo!" Sam could hear clearly coming from outside. "Help!"

        "Ah, damn…" Frodo hissed through his teeth. He quickly ran outside. After hearing the door close, Sam immediately collapsed in his chair. He let out a loud sigh, shaking his head incredulously and holding his face in his hands.

        "I'm goin' on a campin' trip with Mister Frodo--" Suddenly, there was another loud yelp from Merry, causing Sam to cringe, and then there was more cursing from Frodo. "And a Brandybuck."

        Sam let out another sigh and sunk back in his chair. Just then, Frodo and Merry burst back into the house.

        "I can't believe you can't handle one simple, little tent!" Frodo complained. Merry growled, rubbing his lower back.

        "'Little'? 'Little'?!" Merry snapped. "If I wanted this kind of punishment, I could have stayed home!"

        "Is that so?" Frodo retorted, placing his hands on his hips. "I could easily send you back home with the explanation that you took a warm liking to the rest of the Old Wineyard. And you know as well as I that Saradoc would believe every word of it."

        Merry let out another groan. "I hate you, Frodo Baggins!"

        "Aw, Merry!" Frodo chimed beamingly, slinging an arm over Merry's slouched shoulder. "I love you, too."

        Merry snarled vehemently while Frodo laughed hysterically.

        "Sam," Frodo said while chuckling. "Go finish this job before somebody else's pride gets hurt."

        "Yes, sir," Sam replied, trying to hide the smirk on his face while Merry snarled irately. Once he got outside, he found the tent canvas and folded-up poles in a pile on the middle of the lawn. He wrapped it all back up and slipped it under the crook of his arm like it weighed nothing at all. After striding back to the front door again, he swung it open and stepped inside.

        "Mister Frodo?" he called.

        "We're in here," Frodo answered from the front room.

        "Mister Frodo?" Sam asked again, this time appearing in the doorway. He grinned slyly as he motioned to the tent under his arm. "Where do you want this?

        At first, both Merry and Frodo were wordless and wide-eyed in amazement. Frodo's mouth was opening and closing like a fish out of water as he tried to find words to say. The stunned silence was broken when Merry eventually let out an annoyed humph.

        "Show-off," he grumbled. Frodo started laughing again.

        "You can leave it out by the front door, Sam," Frodo stated. Shortly, Sam returned, having deposited the tent in the front foyer. Standing in front of the couch with his arms folded across his chest, he waited until Frodo and Merry parted to the opposite sides of the sofa. He sat down with a smug smile and smoothed a few of his golden-brown curls behind his ear.

        "You're welcome, Mister Merry," Sam grinned wryly. The fuming Brandybuck emitted a low growl, tossing his head aside.

        "Oh, leave me alone, Gamgee."

        Frodo chuckled. "I'll be sure you two sleep on opposite sides of the tent."

        "Oh, bless me!" Sam exclaimed, jumping up like a surprised cat. "I nearly forgot… I need to get my things!" He then quickly shuffled out of the room. Merry blinked.

        "You have the strangest friends," he told Frodo, shaking his head.

        "To each his own, dear coz," Frodo replied.

        "Whatever you say…"

        Soon, it was evening time. Frodo was lounging in front of the fireplace, reading a book as Merry was still milling about.

        "Did you find that bedroll yet?" Frodo asked, licking his finger and turning the page. Merry let out a grumble.

        "No," he snorted. "Why are you making _me_ do this?"

        "The rules are a little different around here," Frodo replied.

        "Excuses, excuses," Merry retorted. "You're lazy."

        Frodo shrugged his shoulders and nodded. "That's pretty much right."

        Merry made another groan. There came a knock at the front door. Frodo threw a look at Merry. Knowing what he meant, Merry went to the door himself and opened it.

        "There you are, Sam!" Merry said, letting him in. "Frodo's been making me work all day and I'm positively famished!"

        "Do you have everything, Sam?" Frodo asked while setting his book aside.

        "Yes, sir," Sam answered, setting down a basket and then slinging the knapsack off his back. "Includin' my Gaffer's permission. He wasn't too keen at first, but I told him that I'd be alright."

        "Not with him around," Frodo pointed towards Merry.

        "You can be so cruel," Merry scowled. Frodo smiled obnoxiously.

        "Is there anything you need me to do, sir?" Sam inquired.

        "Food would be great," Merry commented before Frodo had the chance. Frodo rolled his eyes.

        "For once, I would agree with you on that," Frodo added. "Would you be so kind, Sam?"

        Sam nodded his head and set off for the kitchen. Frodo watched as he walked off.

        "Merry," Frodo said while turning to his cousin. "You've never really tasted Sam's cooking before, have you?"

        Merry shook his head. Frodo chuckled while standing up from his chair.

        "Well, then…" Frodo slapped Merry on the back and went to join Sam in the kitchen. Merry blinked.

        Sam was busily peeling potatoes when Frodo walked up behind him.

        "Hello there, Sam."

        Turning around, Sam blushed brightly. "Oh! Hello, Mister Frodo."

        Frodo peered over Sam's shoulder. "What are you making tonight?"

        Sam smiled and reached for a basket that was sitting on the counter. "You and Mister Merry are in for a real treat." He pulled the cloth covering back, revealing over a dozen fresh mushrooms. Frodo's bright blue eyes widened in wonder.

        "Daisy put up a real fight for these," Sam continued. "But I wanted to make sure my master and his cousin ate well this evening."

        "We certainly will," Frodo agreed heartily. Sam smiled and blushed shyly. Suddenly, Merry appeared in the kitchen doorway.

        "I smell mushrooms," he said in a singsong voice. He dashed up to the counter to gape at the basket. "Beautiful… Simply gorgeous!"

        "It'll get better, believe me," Frodo added. Sam blushed even brighter, nervous being the center of attention. Frodo sensed Sam's distress and started shoving Merry out of the kitchen.

        "I believe our dinner will never get finished if you stand here gawking at it."

        "Me?" Merry retorted, bracing his heels into the tiled floor. "I saw the way you were looking at those mushrooms. You looked about ready to snatch them right from under poor Sam's nose."

        "Don't you worry about poor Sam," Frodo replied, pushing even more forcefully against Merry. "He knows what he's doing." He looked over his shoulder at Sam. "Isn't that right?"

        Sam blinked once or twice, and then shook his head in agreement. Frodo smiled.

        "See?" he said to Merry. "I'm sure if you stay here any longer, something bad is bound to happen. Now, let's leave Master Gamgee to his work."

        Frodo then successfully got Merry out of the kitchen after giving as powerful shove. Merry stumbled to regain his footing.

        "Yes, sir," Merry stated loudly and sarcastically as he stood attention. He gave a haughty salute to Frodo, and Frodo responded in kind, sticking out his tongue. They then left for the living room, leaving Sam grasping onto the counter rim as he tried to keep himself from crumpling to his knees.

        "Oh, glory be to heaven an' earth…" he mumbled dazedly, his deep brown eyes wide as saucers. Too much was happening too fast. Just thinking about the fact that he would be spending the night in Bag End made him dizzy. He didn't even want to _consider_ thinking about sleeping in the same tent as his master, more or less the possibility of being right next to him. So, taking his mind off of the matter, Sam shook it all off and returned his thoughts to preparing dinner, a far less nerve-racking matter. An entire dinner ruined because he was daydreaming? Just what _would_ his master say?

---

Mistress-Samwise: So? Whadda think? Crazy-go-nuts, huh? Anywho, all sorts of crazy crap is going to happen, so stay tuned for it! Oh, the many things I'll be doing to poor, little Sam-kun… I mean, I can't torture Frodo _all_ the time. Anywho… I'm going to drool over all the new anime I've gotten. Cowboy Bebop rocks. Sayonara! ^___^


	2. Chapter Two: Nakiakasu ::To Weep All Nig...

[**REVIEWERS!! HUZZAH!**] piplover: By your request, they shall take a detour to Tuckborough. Let it be so. *_taps magic wand on story_* Blue Jedi Hobbit 007: Ah, my lovely, loyal reviewer. ^_____^ Glad to see you hopping on for another wild ride.

Mistress-Samwise: Whoooo… Anime burnout! I just finished reading two Love Hina graphic novels and now, when I close my eyes, all I can see is Keitaro being thrown around by Naru.

Anywho, I've got this next chapter for you. Crazy fun-time, and with a little bit of Frodo— er, Sam-angst. Oh, man. Almost slipped into regular fanfic mode, there.  
FRODO _(cowering)_: Y-You mean… it's not _me_ this time?  
No, if you can believe it.  
FRODO _(suddenly cheerful)_: Alright! I'm free! I'm free! No self-mutilation today!  
_(FRODO runs off, laughing like a maniac.)_

Um, okay. But don't worry, I'm not going to torture my lil' Sam near as much as I do Frodo. It's not as much fun, anyway, soooooo… Yeah. Read and have FUN!

---

            For much longer than the two could bear, Frodo and Merry detected the scent for their meal wafting in from the kitchen. Merry was shifting uneasily in his seat while Frodo was patiently reading a book.

            "Fro-do…" Merry whined. "Is dinner ready yet? I'm starving!"

            "Patience, patience, my young hobbit," Frodo cajoled. "It will be ready in good time." He sniffed the air. "And very good, indeed. I believe he's making mushroom stew."

            Merry nearly fell out of his seat. "Mushroom stew!" he exclaimed.

            "He didn't bring those mushrooms just to tease us," Frodo answered plainly. "My, you're quick to hunger and slow to thought, aren't you?"

            Merry made a very silly, vacuous face as he waited several moments. "… No, I'm not!"

            Frodo groaned and tossed a pillow off of the coach at Merry. It hit Merry in the head, but it took him a few seconds to respond.

            "Ow," Merry said vapidly and monotonously. "That hurt." He grabbed the pillow and slowly began to raise it over his head. "I'll get you for that."

            Merry was just about to throw the pillow as Frodo was cowering, awaiting the fated blow, when Sam entered the room.

            "Mister Frodo?"  he asked. The two other hobbits stopped in mid-motion and looked up at Sam with eager looks on their faces. Sam was going to continue when Merry cut him off.

            "Is dinner ready yet?"

            Sam looked surprised at being interrupted. Frodo decided to take over Sam's brain-freeze.

            "You wanted to speak to me, Sam?" Frodo questioned. Sam was going to respond, but Merry cut him off a second time.

            "Is dinner ready yet?"

            "I-I'm sorry, Mister Merry," Sam replied softly. "But I wanted to ask Mister Frodo something." He waited for Frodo to stand up and they both left the room, leaving Merry alone and still hungry. He grunted.

            " 'I'm sorry, Mister Merry, but I wanted to ask Mister Frodo something'," he mocked Sam's accent sarcastically, his voice high-pitched and squeaky. Then, he spoke in Frodo's voice. "Sam, I have a splendid idea… Let's starve poor, hungry Merry." He switched back to Sam's voice, this time making it especially sarcastic. "Oooo, yes…! Anything for you, _Mister Frodo_!" He let out another humph and threw the pillow into the place where Frodo was formerly sitting. Grumpily, he crossed his arms and thought about how famished he was.

            "Merry…"

            Merry nearly died when he realized Frodo was standing behind him.

            "Ah! F-Frodo!" He gave a nervous, toothy grin. "Wha-What ever brings you back out here?"

            Frodo gave a sardonic smile. "I heard all of that." He leaned in close over Merry. "And I don't think Sam liked that very much, either."

            Merry cowered, shielding his head from Frodo. "Eee! You can do what you like to me, but just don't send _him_ after me! I'm very hungry, that's all."

            Frodo slowly traced his finger from the corner of his eye down his cheek while mouthing the words "boo-hoo". He then grinned wickedly, his blue eyes shining like fire, as he watched Merry boil over.

            "Why you… you… son of a—"

            Before he could finish, Merry found his face coming in contact with the pillow again. He let out a yelp as the cushion whapped his cheek, but before he could do anything, Frodo had leapt over the couch and started running back into the kitchen.

            "Stupid Brandybuck!" he called back. Merry hurdled over the couch and proceeded to chase after Frodo. 

            "Bloody Baggins!"

            Sam, who had only been listening to all that was going on, soon found himself acting as a hobbit-shield for Frodo.

            "Help!" Frodo cried, cowering behind Sam. "Don't let him get to me!"

            "Your gardener can't save you now, Frodo Baggins!" Merry shouted resolutely. He stormed up to Sam and just looked at him. That was when he noticed that Sam was a few inches taller than himself, so he had to tip his head a bit back to look up at Sam properly. 

             "Sam," Merry continued, staring up at Sam's stern face. "If you would be so kind as to _move_, so that I may get to my cousin." Sam did not move. Merry tried stepping around Sam, but Sam just moved in his way. Merry then took a stride the other way around, but, again, Sam hurriedly shifted and blocked him off. Merry soon grew aggravated.

            "Grr!" he snarled, trying to dodge and weave around Sam. "Out of the way! This isn't your problem, anyway."

            "Harm my master and I _will_ make it my problem," Sam replied sternly. Merry grunted and reached his hand over past Sam's shoulder. He was able reach far enough to bat at Frodo's hair, causing it to become rather disheveled.

            "Hah-hah-hah!" Merry laughed maniacally, taking much pleasure out of ruining his cousin's hair. "Take that—"

            Suddenly, Merry found his wrist caught in Sam's grip, Sam's powerful fingers crushing deep into his flesh.

            "Ah-ah-hah-hah-howwww…" Merry whimpered painfully as Sam slowly brought his hand away from Frodo's hair. Sam gave Merry's wrist one last squeeze before releasing it.

            "I told you, Mister Merry," Sam stated, his face profoundly serious. Merry was tenderly holding his arm, staring at the glaringly red welts.

            "Goddamn it, Gamgee!"  he hissed. "That's going to leave a mark!"

            "Now, now, Sam…" Frodo said, his dark brown hair still unkempt. "Was that really necessary?"

            Sam immediately flushed deeply, his face changing from grave to shocked. "I-I'm sorry, sir! B-But I thought he was tryin' to hurt you—"

            "We were only playing around, Sam," Frodo cut in, laughing nervously. "We're cousins… We're always at each other's throats, but we never really mean anything by it. Do you understand?"

            "Y-Yes, s-sir," Sam struggled to say as he felt his throat grow tight. He quickly turned away from Merry and Frodo, too scared to look at either of them anymore. The look of disappointment in Frodo's eyes pierced him like a sword. "Forgive me, Mister Merry…"

            Merry let out a quick sigh. "Well, I'll be alright. I was being an ass." He snorted. "This better be the food I ever tasted…"

            "Oh, that reminds me, Mister Frodo…" Sam dipped a ladle into the stew and drew some out. He timidly held it up to Frodo. "I thought you might like to try some out before I served it."

            Instead of taking the ladle into his own hand like Sam thought he would, Frodo placed his lips onto it and drew some into his mouth. Sam blushed darkly and gently tipped the ladle forward, draining the rest of the soup down Frodo's throat. Thoughtfully licking his lips, Frodo savored the flavor for a moment, then broke into a smile.

            "Your best yet, Sam," he stated beamingly.

            Sam's eyes widened. "Really, sir?"

            Frodo grinned. "Why would I lie? Try for yourself, if you haven't already."

            It was true Sam hadn't even tested his own fare yet, so he dipped the ladle back into the pot and pulled it out again. He blew on it, blowing away the little clouds of steam. Gingerly, he brought it to his lips, being sure it was not the same place where Frodo's were. And, true enough, the stew was especially delicious this time around.

            "Yes, I reckon you're right, Mister Frodo," Sam replied.

            "Artists are always skeptical about their work, eh?" Frodo asked.

            "Art?" Sam questioned incredulously. "Pardon me, sir, but I can't see why cooking is an art—"

            "Of course it is!" Merry exclaimed. "Especially amongst hobbits. And if this stew is as good as both of you say, then you, my dear Samwise, are an artist."

            Merry snatched the ladle out of Sam's hand and got himself some of the stew. He took a tentative sip, but then he quickly downed the rest.

            "You're not an artist," Merry commented. "You're a miracle worker!" He turned to Sam. "When do we eat?" Even before Sam got to open his mouth, Merry immediately answered his own question. "Now? Why, yes, I think that's a great idea!"

            With a grin on his face, Merry started off for the dining room, but was anchored back by Frodo.

            "You're not leaving until you help set the table," Frodo stated. Merry let out a whine.

            "But I've been doing work all day!" Merry complained. "You haven't done a single thing—"

            "Except _not_ turn you back out onto the road, you sot," Frodo replied tersely. "There are only three of us, not all of Brandyhall." Frodo pointed to the cupboard where the china was kept. "Get moving."

            Merry groaned anyway, reaching into the cupboard and pulling three plates out. They were of heavy earthenware, and combined, were also quite weighty. He carted them off to the dining room. Promptly, he retuned for silverware and mugs.

            "Don't you think you're bein' a bit harsh on him, sir?" Sam asked as Merry left the kitchen again. "He's a guest, after all."

            "Guest, yes," Frodo commented. "Over-worked, no. He's here on punishment, and Saradoc trusts me to keep him in order. A little 'hard work' will more than keep him away from the bottle."

            "Oh, huzzah, Frodo," Merry called back from the dining room. "Knowing you, I'm sure my desire for alcohol will soon be replaced by a desire to strangle you in your sleep." He walked back into the kitchen. " 'Frodo Baggins' One Easy Step to Sobriety…! Manual Labor!' " He let out a guffaw.

            "Well, Merry," Frodo added. "All I know for certain is that it works very well for our friend Sam here."  He patted Sam on the shoulder. "I've seen this fellow knock back quite a few and never so much as stagger." He turned to Merry. "But you, my dear cousin, are of completely different stock."

            Merry wagged a finger. "Pot calling the kettle black, I'm afraid. Seeing you after several glasses of wine is a very amusing spectacle, indeed."

            While Frodo and Merry argued over their past encounters with alcohol, Sam got the food ready. Soon, he was finished setting it out on the table and patiently stood beside Frodo as he waited for them to finish.

            "Sam," Frodo said to him after a few minutes of bickering. "Please tell my cousin that I am _not_ a helpless drunk!"

            "Actually, sir," Sam replied. "I wanted to tell him (and you) that dinner is all set and ready."

            "Why didn't you say before!" Merry exclaimed. "And I'm standing here, talking about drinking, when I could be eating!"

            With that, Merry hastily hustled off to the dining room to greet the food that awaited him. Frodo  sighed and followed, leaving Sam to depart the kitchen last. When they got to the table, Merry had already helped himself to the bread.

            "Thif if vwery good, Stham," Merry commented, his mouth full.

            "Pardon me, Mister Merry," Sam piped up shyly. "But you use the bread to dip into the soup."

            "Oh?" Merry tried it out. "Ah, I see what you mean… Very good!" 

            Frodo did not immediately sit down at the table. Instead, he left the room and momentarily returned with a bottle of wine. Merry gave Frodo a very cutting stare.

            "Merry," Frodo cooed, as if speaking to a child. "If you're a good boy while on the camping trip, I'll give you a glass of wine."

            "Oh, drat!" Merry exclaimed sarcastically, throwing his piece of bread down onto the plate. "And to think I was planning on making the trip a living hell… But now there's alcohol involved! Sigh… No troublemaking for me, then…"

            Merry laughed as Frodo rolled his eyes.

            "That's good to know," Frodo replied as he stood up to get a wine glass. Almost instantly, Sam produced one, and set it beside Frodo's plate.

            "Here you go, sir," he said. Frodo blinked.

            "That was… fast," Frodo stated while sitting back down, slightly confused. "Uh… Thank you, Sam."

            "No wonder I haven't seen you do a single bit of work around here, Frodo," Merry commented. "He does all of it for you!"

            "Believe me, I've tried to stop him," Frodo told Merry. "But he keeps doing it anyway. It's like he enjoys doing everything for me…"

            "Please, sir…" Sam murmured shyly.

            "Yes, well," Frodo sensed Sam's discomfort. He did not like being talked about very often. "Why don't you sit down? There's no need for you to stand around while we eat the meal you prepared." Frodo pulled the chair next to him out. Sam timidly sat down next to his master. Merry hastily continued to eat, while Frodo mannerly brought his spoon to his mouth.

            "I can't tell you enough, Sam," he said after finishing. "This is your best yet." 

            "Mmm-hmm," Merry shook his head, his mouth full. Sam blushed brightly as he felt Frodo's and Merry's eyes on him. He nervously looked away from them.

            "It's nothin' special…" he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I really don't see what the whole fuss is about…" He lowered his face and anxiously fiddled with his sleeve cuff. Merry let out an aggravated grunt as he dropped his spoon onto the table.

             "You just can't stand compliments, can you?" he asked, slightly huffy. "I hate it when people think all they are is a failure! You try to be nice to somebody, and what do they do…? Throw it back in your face!" He folded his arms across his chest. "It's false modesty, if you ask me." When he looked back at Sam, he found Sam's face starkly drained of all color, his eyes large and shining wetly. He then quickly turned and hid his face in his arm, wiping away at his eyes.

            "Hey!" Frodo shouted very irately while slapping Merry upside the head. "Now _that_ was unnecessary! You may be my cousin, but if you go insulting my friends like that…"

            "I didn't mean it that way!' Merry snapped back as he rubbed at his head. "Can't I say a word around this place without somebody barking at me for it?"

            "Well, it certainly didn't seem like harmless criticism to me," Frodo replied.

            "That's alright, s-sir," Sam squeaked shakily, stifling a sniffle as he was bent forward, hiding the tears gathering in his eyes. "M-Mister Merry didn't know…"

            "Know what?" Merry inquired.

            "We shouldn't be arguing at a time like this," Frodo stated, purposely ignoring Merry's question. "Let's stop acting like silly little lads and start acting like friends." Turning to Sam, he held his arms open. "Come on, Sam." 

            Sam looked up at Frodo, into his crystal blue eyes. They were deep and full of understanding. He felt as if he was staring into the eyes of a friend, not his master. Then, quickly forgetting his fear, he let out a soft sigh and allowed Frodo to embrace him.

            "There, there, Sam," Frodo cooed warmly, holding the back of Sam's head while it was buried in his shoulder. Sam felt Frodo's gentle fingers stroking soothingly at his hair as he inhaled the delicate scent of Frodo's lavender soap with each breath he took. Sam's cheeks burned hotly as he stretched his arms around Frodo's back, tightly pressing his face deeper into Frodo's shoulder. He breathed a shuddering sigh and felt his tears quell. Even though his tears were gone, he still felt very awkward and ridiculous. Here he was, being held by Frodo as if he still was a small boy.

            _Oh, heaven help me…! What am I doin'? Poor Mister Frodo must be embarrassed out of his wits!_

But Sam just turned his head and laid his flushed cheek against Frodo's shoulder. He opened his eyes and saw Merry rolling his and drumming his fingers on the tabletop. He looked back at Sam and stared at him quite plainly. Then, he turned his attention to his cousin.

            "Are you about done yet?"  he asked Frodo politely. "If not, I'll just take the rest of your food before it gets cold…"

            "Oh, no, you won't!" Frodo cried, suddenly releasing his arms from around Sam. "You try that one on me, and you know what'll happen!"

            Merry stuck out his tongue. Sam was thoroughly confused. He then remembered that his arms were still around Frodo, and he quickly drew them away. As he tried sitting up straight in his chair, he looked over at Frodo and caught sight of his eyes. Sam suddenly blushed very deeply. Frodo looked back at him and furrowed his brow slightly.

            "Sam?" he asked, noticing the rather dark shade of red of Sam's face. "Are you alright?" Sam shyly nodded his head.

            "I'm fine, thank you, sir," Sam replied softly, squirming under Frodo's gaze. Leaning forward, Frodo took a closer look at Sam's face and silently examined it for a few moments. Sam's eyes were wide and full of confusion. Then, suddenly, Frodo poked him in the cheek. Surprised, Sam gave a small jump. Frodo laughed.

            "Alright then, Sam," Frodo chuckled. "Just checking." Frodo continued to laugh to himself and Merry smiled amusedly. Sam's eyebrows knit in severe confusion as he rubbed his cheek. He then realized how warm it was.

            "Oh, dear!" he exclaimed. His face turned a deeper shade of red, if it was possible. Merry whistled incredulously.

            "Wow, Frodo," he said, amazed at the spectacle before him. "Look at what you're doing to this poor fellow. He must be scared out of his mind."

            "What do you mean?" Frodo inquired. "If it wasn't for you and your far-from-constructive criticism, maybe he wouldn't be about ready to have a nosebleed."

            And, sure enough, that was when Sam noticed a small, wet trickle in the back of his nose. He quickly got up from his seat, taking his dishes with him.

            "'Cuse me," he muttered and he hastily left the room. Frodo and Merry watched him as he left. Merry looked at Frodo, but Frodo just shrugged his shoulders. Groaning and shaking his head, Merry was the one who gave Frodo a slap in the back of the head this time.

            Sam had retreated to the kitchen and was busying himself with washing the dishes.

            "I noo I shoulda stayeb home to-day…" Sam grumbled to himself while he was holding his handkerchief to his nose. He made a long sniffle and continued to scrub away at the mixing bowl, which was even hard for him with only one hand. For many minutes, he miserably washed the dishes one by one. He was on the last one when he finally let out a growl and threw the dishrag into the water, splashing suds everywhere.

            "Damn it!" he swore, which was extraordinarily rare for him to do. He took another long sniffle and started coughing as he felt the blood run down his throat. He mumbled other obscenities under his breath as he hung his head to his chest. Leaning against the counter, he silently brooded in anger as his sandy-colored curls were hanging loose over his face.

            _You're a fool to end all fools, Sam Gamgee… You just should have listened to your Gaffer in the first place and stayed at home tonight. Not only did you humiliate yourself, but you embarrassed Mister Frodo in front of his kin… You're a fool… A damn fool…_

            "Sam?" Frodo appeared in the kitchen doorframe, cutting off Sam's mental self-cursing. "I heard you coughing. Are you alright?"

            "Jus'…" Sam made a loud sniff. "… Fime."

            Frodo frowned worriedly and stepped up to Sam. He saw the bloody handkerchief that Sam was holding up to his nose. His heart pained to see this.

            "Sam… I…" he murmured as he softly laid a hand on his servant's shoulder. Sam tensed up at the touch.

            "Leabe me ah-lone, sir," he growled, sneering behind the handkerchief. Frodo's face was marked with surprise at Sam's unusual show of anger. He slowly withdrew his hand from Sam's shoulder.

            "I… see," Frodo said humbly. "I'll let you be, if that is what you wish."

            Frodo silently left the kitchen and left Sam all by himself to finish washing the last dish. He clenched his jaw and mercilessly scrubbed at the china as his vision gradually grew blurry with tears. Blinking them away, he jammed his handkerchief further into his nose and continued to scour the dinner plate. He took a long, hard sniffle, and ended up coughing painfully as the blood seeped down his throat. The dishrag slipped out of his hand and he slowly slid to his knees, hacking dryly as he gripped the counter rim with one hand and weakly kept the handkerchief to his nose with the other. He silently coughed into his handkerchief until it hurt, and his coughs turned into soundless sobs. Hot tears rolled helplessly down his cheeks, for he no longer cared to quell them. His hands weakly dropped to his sides and he leaned his head against the counter, blood seeping out of his nose.

            "Hopeless…" he whispered. 

            For many minutes, he laid reclined against the counter until he brought himself to stand up. He took a deep breath and wiped the blood away from under his nose. From out of the living room, he could hear Frodo and Merry conversing. Silently, he slipped out of the kitchen into the hallway, from where he made his way to the washroom. He splashed his face with the tepid water from the washbasin, cleaning away the last of the tears and blood on his face. Letting out a sigh, he looked at himself in the mirror, watching the droplets of water trickle off of his bangs. For a moment, he stared blankly at his reflection, but then let out a groan and quickly dried his face off with a hand towel. He impatiently smoothed his hair back out as best he could into a semi-tousled state (hobbit hair being very hard to control in the first place). Before he left the washroom, he took one last gaze at himself in the mirror.

            "Hello, I am Samwise Gamgee," he said to himself while tugging on his face. "And I am an idiot." He then left the room, closing the door behind himself.

            Merry and Frodo were discussing the next day's plans when they noticed Sam passing by in the hallway. Sam also sensed he was being watched, and he stopped and stared back. Frodo was about say something to him when he disappeared down the hall again. Both Merry and Frodo waited until they heard Sam's footsteps diminish.

            "Is he still upset?" Merry inquired incredulously. "I thought he was supposed to be a very laid-back fellow."

            "I did so, too," Frodo replied, his tone as questionable as Merry's. "He's been acting very strangely lately (you wouldn't believe the way he acts around me, sometimes). But I have never seen him this angry before."

             Merry looked surprised. "So, you're telling me that this is the angriest you've ever seen him?"

            Frodo paused. "Well… There have been times when he would be extraordinarily annoyed with something and lash out about that, but, this time, it seems different." He stopped to look down the corridor in which Sam disappeared. "He was hurt… I can tell." He looked back at Merry. "One of said or did something that did not go well with him." He paused and added quickly, "So, it was most likely you."

            "Me?!" Merry exclaimed. "You mean you! He's _your_ friend, after all."

            They continued to argue amongst each other. Sam had wandered back to his knapsack, which was still in the front corridor. He rummaged through it and drew out his pipe along with a pouch of pipeweed. Finding smoking a good idea, he opened the door and stepped out onto the front stair. He sat down onto the cold stone and let out a slow sigh. The night sky was clear, save for a few wisps of cloud, but the stars still shone through. The moon had just started waning from its full.

            Placing the pipe between his teeth, his clenched down on it tightly as he struck at the steel bit with his flint. The weed caught on fire and the scent of its fragrant smoke soon filled the air around him. As he silently smoked on his pipe, Sam's thoughts wandered off into nothingness just like the puffs of smoke he breathed out. The calming hush of the night caused him to lose track of time. It was when he started to feel himself drift off when he heard the door behind him open.

            "Sam?" Frodo asked as he looked out from behind the half open door, holding a candle in one hand. Sam peered over his shoulder.

            "Hmm?" he mumbled with his pipe still between his teeth.

            "It's getting late, Sam," Frodo continued. "Merry and I are going to bed. You should get some sleep, too. It's going to be a long day tomorrow."

            Sam said nothing, but tapped the ashes out of his pipe and stood up to follow Frodo back inside. He softly closed the door and turned to Frodo. The only light still on in the house was the candle Frodo was holding.

            "I'm sorry," Frodo apologized, handing Sam the candle and his knapsack. "I should have told you to come in sooner."

            "That's alright, sir," Sam stated, slinging the knapsack over one shoulder. "Where will I be sleeping?"

            "In the living room, if you are alright with that. I apologize, but I tried making the couch as comfortable as I could. You see, the other guestroom I gave to Merry—"

            "It's fine," Sam politely interrupted, smiling weakly. "I can more than manage, thank you."

            Frodo nodded and stepped aside to let Sam into the living room. Sam slipped the bag off of his back and waited to hear Frodo walk away. Setting the candle onto the end table, he looked over at the couch that had been prepared for him. There were several pillows and an old quilt that Sam used to "borrow" from Frodo when he was a boy. He smiled slightly at that memory and continued to change into his nightshirt. Before he laid down onto the couch, he looked around the room.

            Aside from the orange light that came from the flickering candle, the living room had a pale blue glow to it that was strong enough to see by. The curtains were thinly drawn back from the windows, allowing the moonlight in. Sam sighed and blew out the candle as he rested his head onto the pillow. The couch, though he had sat on it many times before, was surprisingly comfortable when laid upon.  With the quilt pulled up to his shoulders, he was patiently waiting for sleep to take him. He really wanted to fall asleep, but it just wasn't happening. Too much had happened in the past day for him to simply forget about. This was the first time he had done anything like this before in his life; spending the night at Bag End and then going on a camping trip… and all this within too close of quarters of his master for his comfort.

            _Ah… Best not to think about it. I should be sleepin', if I know what's good for me…_

            Minutes passed like hours. Through the still silence, Sam heard the familiar footfall of his master approach, then stop in the doorway. He sat up and tried to make out Frodo through the dull moonlight.

            "Sir?" he asked quietly. Frodo said nothing, but walked over and sat down into a chair near the couch.

            "Sam," he said after a few moments. "About earlier today… I wanted to apologize to you." He paused. "I wanted to apologize for the way I treated you. It was my fault that you were so upset." He promptly continued before Sam had the chance to apologize for himself. "It wasn't right of me… I shouldn't treat you like a child anymore."

            "Sir—"

            "I want you to know that I respect you as a servant and as a friend, Sam," Frodo continued. "You always try your best to treat me with dignity, so it's time I did so, too." He got up from his chair and went to kneel down beside the couch. He took Sam's hand in his and squeezed it tightly. Sam's eyes widened and he blushed surprisingly.

            "Also," Frodo added, clasping Sam's hand with both of his. "I want you to know that I don't think you are a failure, no matter what you, or your father, thinks." His last words were deeply meaningful. He looked into Sam's eyes, and Sam tried hard to look back. Sam could see the truth behind Frodo's words just by the way his gentle blue eyes shone in the moonlight.

            "Mister Frodo…" Sam whispered, his lips barely moving. He flushed darkly as he felt Frodo's hand press into his one last time while the other one lightly smoothed over his shoulder. Then, both of Frodo's hands left Sam as he stood up and he softly padded out of the room. He stopped in the doorway before leaving.

            "Good night, Sam," he stated, and then quietly left down the hallway. After a few moments, there was the faint click of Frodo's bedroom door shutting. All was silent again.

Letting out a deep, trembling sigh, Sam collapsed back onto his pillow. His head was slung back, doing nothing to keep the burning tears from welling behind his eyelids.

            "…Good night, Mister Frodo…" he whimpered as the tears ran helplessly down his hot, red cheeks. A great feeling of emptiness overcame him, and he clutched at one of the extra pillows in his aching arms. Then, burying his face in it, he wept bitterly and silently, his shoulders quaking with each sob. His arms felt painfully empty as he feverishly grasped at the pillow, desperately wishing its tear-soaked fabric was that of his master's shirt, or his soft, cool cheek pressed against his own. He dug his nails deep into the cushion at that thought, and plowed them further in with each suppressed sob. Ache spread through his entire body. Eventually, he grew exhausted of vainly quelling his powerful weeping and slumped over to his side. There, he tiredly gasped for breath and, giving up the useless struggle, allowed sleep to take him from his pain into numbing, dreamless darkness.

            _Hopeless fool…_

---

Mistress-Samwise: Awww… Poor lil' guy. He'll have much more "fun" next chapter, anyway. Can't wait for that one. Stay tuned, for when they finally start camping (huzzah)!


	3. Chapter Three: Hidoishiuchi ::Cruel Trea...

Quick, quick update!

---

Merry was the first to wake the next morning. He sat up in his bed and looked out the window. It was just before daybreak, and not even Sam would not get up until the sun rose. The horizon was tinted with orange that lined the waning night sky. Birds had begun their songs, taking over for the evening's crickets. Taking his attention off of the lovely conditions outdoors, Merry noticed the condition of his stomach. Not being one to wait patiently for his morning meal, he got out of bed and quietly exited the guestroom, aiming to find Sam and wake him up.

            "Sa-am?" he whispered in a singsong tone. "I'm hung-gree…"

            Merry tiptoed into the living room and spotted Sam on the couch. He was completely hidden under the quilt, a large lump huddled to one side of the couch. Merry stepped up to Sam and poked him.

            "Hey, Sam…" he stated, giving Sam another nudge. "Wake up." He poked a few more times. Then, the lump under the quilt stirred and mumbled grumpily under its breath.

            "Excuse me?" Merry asked, shocked. "What was that you just said to me?"

            "Mmmmm…" Sam groaned, sounding less than cheerful. "…Go 'way…"

            "Now, now," Merry chided. "Is that how you treat a guest of your master…? And, his cousin, nonetheless? I presume you just let them starve and waste away into nothing. Not very polite, if you ask me." He continued prodding Sam, but Sam was a very adamant lump.

            "Well… I didn't ask you, did I…?" Sam tetchily replied from under the covers. Merry let out an annoyed growl.

            "Oh, come now!" He made a very wide grin and leaned in close over Sam. "If you don't get up," he said in a sarcastic, childish tone. "I'll go tell Fwodo that you're being aww gwumpy and mean to me because you were up cwying wast night."

            "_What?!_" Sam yelped piercingly, his sandy-colored head suddenly popping out from under the quilt, revealing his now scarlet face.

            Merry grinned crookedly. "I heard you." He let out a sarcastic sigh. "Yes… Bawling like a lass, you were. I'd sure hate to know why, though." He placed his chin in his hand. "Maybe Frodo might know…"

            "Oh, no you don't!" Sam growled threateningly, his face reddening even further. He quickly shot up out of the covers and loomed tall over Merry.

            Merry raised an eyebrow as he looked up at Sam, far from intimidated. "Is that so? Then why, may I ask, shouldn't I?"

            Sam's serious expression instantly turned blank. Wordlessly moving his mouth, he couldn't get anything out. "I… I…"

            Merry smiled amusedly. "Can't come up with an answer, eh?" He paused. "You know what? I'll cut you a little deal. If you make me breakfast right now, I'll forget all about your tearful lamentation."

            Sam glared piercingly at Merry. "Why, you… you…"

            "So, is it a deal, then?" Merry cut in. Sam glowered at him even harder. "I'll take that as a yes."

            "You are cruel an' heartless, Meriadoc Brandybuck," Sam muttered darkly, jutting a finger into Merry's chest as he leaned in close to him. "Cruel an' heartless."

            "And hungry, too," Merry added, casually pushing Sam away. "The sooner you get started, the sooner the two of us can forget about all this."

            Sam had no choice. "Yes, sir…" he mumbled dejectedly. "At least let me change into somethin' a bit more suitable."

            "Of course," Merry replied. "And, while you're doing that, I'll get some tea ready." He marched off to the kitchen, obviously pleased with what he achieved. Sam desperately wanted to jump under the quilt and hide again, but he knew there was no way to back out of this deal. So he took his time changing out of his nightshirt into his regular flannel one and carefully straitening out his disheveled hair.

            It wasn't long until the halls of Bag End were awake with the scent of Sam's cooking. Merry grew more and more impatient.

            "What's taking so long?" he whined, fiddling with his empty tea mug.

            Sam didn't even turn around to look at Merry. "You wanted breakfast, didn't you? This is a meal I'm makin', not your morning-time snack. You're just goin' to have to wait."

            Merry groaned at the mention of waiting. Just then, Frodo appeared in the doorway, fully dressed.

            "Good morning," he stated. Merry just nodded in reply. Sam whirled around, surprised.

            "Oh!" he squeaked, his face going red. "G-Good mornin', sir."

            "Did you sleep well, Sam?" Frodo asked. Merry opened his mouth, but before he could even get a single syllable out, he found it closed shut by Sam's hand.

            "Just fine, thank you," Sam answered, muffling the words Merry was trying to say. Frodo furrowed his brow in confusion as Sam smiled nervously. Sam let go of Merry's mouth, and Merry gasped deeply for air.

            "Wah!" Merry exclaimed as he tried to regain his breath. Suddenly, Sam grabbed him by the shirt collar.

            "You open your mouth an' all this food'll get burned, you hear?" Sam growled menacingly through his teeth. Merry gulped and nodded meekly.

            "Lads, lads!" Frodo cried, throwing his arms up. "What's all this then?"

            "Don't think I won't do it!" Sam added, ignoring Frodo's plea. Merry wagged his head more fervently and then motioned towards Frodo. Sam looked over to see his very bewildered master.

            "Mister Frodo!" He instantly released his grip on Merry's shirt collar, causing him to drop down onto the floor.

            Frodo looked down at Merry, who was in a pile on the floor. "Please don't throw around my cousin, Sam," he said.

            "Sorry, sir," Sam apologized. He helped Merry up. "And I'm sorry about that, Mister Merry."

            "I'm sure you are…" Merry rubbed at his side. "Next time, warn me, alright?"

            "Listen," Frodo stated. "If you two don't stop arguing, there will be no camping trip. And that means you go back home, Merry."

            Merry gulped. "I'll be good, I'll be good!" he squeaked.

            "But, first things first," Frodo continued. "Unfortunately, we have completely neglected the task of planning out our trip. Do any of you have any suggestions of where to go first?"

            "I say _not_ Buckland," Merry commented. "Actually, I was hoping we would steer clear from going to far east altogether."

            "I was thinking, maybe we could take the East Road to the Three Farthing Stone and decide from there." Frodo turned to Sam, who was tending to the food. "You've never been out there before, have you?"

            Sam shook his head. "No, sir. Never even been past Bywater."

            "Well, then," Merry said, slinging an elbow on Sam's shoulder. "You're in for a real treat. The stone marker they have there was laid down by the king of Nobury who ruled these lands well over a thousand years ago. It's a grand thing to look at."

            Sam recalled the long, boring hours he spent learning about Middle-earth history from Bilbo during the uneventful winter months (Frodo also served time learning, too, although he actually seemed to enjoy it). He remembered hearing about the Numenorian kingdom, Arnor, that used to occupy the Shire before the hobbits even crossed the Misty Mountains. Eventually, the Men diminished out of the north and moved southwards to Gondor and Rohan, leaving behind ruins to be grown over by earth and grass. The Three Farthing Stone was the remains of a great watchtower that was at the meeting point of three different sections of the kingdom, those of which would later be known as the West, South, and East Farthings by the hobbits after the Men long since left the region. Typical hobbit resourcefulness took advantage of the pre-laid boundaries and the ruined watchtower served as a marker for the focal point of the three Farthings.

             "It really is," Frodo agreed. "It's certainly the closest we'll ever get to seeing anything built by Men, that's for sure."

            Sam nodded his head in agreement and turned back to frying the eggs, wondering about the ancient catacombs Bilbo had told him about that laid beyond the Old Forest.

            "I don't know about you," Merry said, shifting about in his seat. "But I say we shouldn't sit around here all day. The sooner Sam finishes making us breakfast, the sooner we leave."

            "And what does that have to do with anything?" Sam retorted.

            Frodo raised his eyebrows. "He has a point, Sam. The sooner you feed him, the sooner he will stop complaining."

            Merry nodded enthusiastically and Frodo smiled, as well. Sam hated cooking under pressure.

            "I just hope you two have everything we need to bring arranged properly," Sam sighed, idly poking at the crackling eggs. "I know I have everything I need."

            "Frodo made sure _I_ had everything we needed," Merry stated as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Though, to think of it, I would gladly go over the trail rations again…"

            Sam groaned. "If you're that hungry…" He tossed Merry a piece of bread from off the counter.

            "Hup!" Merry barely caught it when Sam shoved a plate of butter into his hands. Ignoring the butter, Merry took an overly large bite out of the bread. "Aaa… Tha' hoo, 'Am." Sam tried offering Frodo a slice of bread, but Frodo just smiled and shook his head.

            "Unlike Merry, I can wait," Frodo remarked. "The Farthing Stone is not very far off at all. I still can't believe I never showed it to you before." 

            Sam made an amused grin. "Well, Mister Frodo, I think you were too busy readin' about it than carin' to show it to me."

            "Yeah!" Merry whined loudly and reclined weightily on Frodo's back. "What a bookworm! He was just like that back in Buckland. If you ask me, some sunlight and fresh air will do him wonders." He pulled on Frodo's pallid cheek and let it snap back onto his face. "I bet that slimy little character from Bilbo's stories looks just like you."

            "Ow-- You mean Gollum?" Frodo inquired while rubbing his cheek. "I am glad you think so. But whether that was a compliment on my part or his… With you, it is only left to be assumed the former."

            "Now, now, Mister Frodo…" Sam chided shyly as he set the freshly prepared plates of food down on the table. "Don't be so hard on yourself. I think that you're a fine-looking fellow… far more handsome than any nasty, ol' Gollum, that's for sure…"

            "Still, that's probably not saying very much," Merry replied haughtily. He took a forkful of eggs in his mouth. "En-hee ways…" He swallowed. "Anyways, Frodo's been like that for as long as I could remember. He just _loves_ to act all modest, but, deep down inside, he secretly gloats over the fact that he's the prettiest thing outside the Elf kingdoms."  He poked Frodo in the cheek. "Isn't that wight, Fwodo?"

            "Yes, and the lasses come breaking down my door everyday," Frodo rolled his eyes. " 'Where's Frodo?' they ask. 'We want to see his simply _gorgeous_ face!'"

            "What about that one lass?" Merry asked and then scratched his head. "What was her name…? Deena? Derna…? Dree—"

            Frodo made a swift kick at Merry's leg. "Shut up!"  
  


            "Ow!" Merry bawled. "What's the matter with you?!"

            Frodo stood up, grabbing Merry by the shirt collar while brandishing his tightly clenched fist. "I'll show you what's the matter!—"

            "Mister Frodo!" Sam intervened. "Don't start causin' trouble!"

            Frodo suddenly realized the tight spot Merry was in.

            "Ah, sorry," he apologized while letting go of his cousin.

            Merry straightened out his shirt and brushed himself off. "I think you really do need some fresh air. You've been cooped up inside way too long."

            "Well," Frodo said, sitting back down. "Just as soon as we're finished here, we can get going."

            The three hobbits managed to finish their breakfast meal without a fuss, and it was mid-morning when they set foot outside Bag End.

             "Are you sure you have everything?" inquired Frodo to Merry. Merry rolled his eyes and groaned.

            "Yes! Will you quit asking me that?"

            "Last time," Frodo grinned. "You forgot an extra pair of trousers. And then do you remember what happened?"

            "I got them torn while jumping over Maggot's bloody garden fence!" Merry replied. "In that case, yes! Yes, I do have an extra pair of trousers!"

            "Well, there you go," Frodo added, slapping his cousin on the shoulder. "See what a little afterthought gets you?"

            "Pants?"

            "No! Wisdom. And, knowing you, that's much more valuable than pants."

            "Oh."

            Frodo, sighing, shook his head and locked the front door. He turned to look at the neatly folded-up mass of tent canvas and poles that were attached to his servant's knapsack. He furrowed his brow in confusion. "Are you alright carrying that tent, Sam?"

            Sam nodded. "Aye. Barely notice I'm even carryin' it, sir."

            " 'Barely notice'?!" Merry cried incredulously. "You look like a flipping pack horse!"

            "I'm quite alright, _Mister Merry_," Sam replied matter-of-factly, his walking stick tucked under his arm. "Are you sure you don't want me to carry _your_ pack for you?"

            Merry enthusiastically took his knapsack off of his shoulders, and was just about to shove it onto Sam before Frodo stopped him.

            "Knock it off, Merry! He was only joking."

            Merry, disheartened, slung his knapsack back on. "Spoil-sport."

            Frodo grinned and proceed to step out side the front gate. He followed by Merry, then Sam, who closed the gate behind himself. They continued down the Hill and off onto the road into town. As they passed through the market place, the little shops and stands were just about getting ready to open up for the business day. The shopkeepers, of course, paused to watch the strange trio of hobbits pass through; one that seemed to be carrying an entire caravan on his back, an outsider from Buckland, and a noticeably aristocratic one leading them. Once they left, the market went back to normal.

            Soon, they passed over the bridge that led over the Water into Bywater. Off in the distance, Sam could still see Bag End rising above the other smials. They passed by the Green Dragon, which Sam noted was where Rosie Cotton worked as a barmaid. The passage through the rest of town was brief, and they found themselves turning off onto the East Road. It seemed to go on forever in both directions as they stood in its center, disappearing into the rolling countryside. Above them, a bright, blue sky shone with light clouds that blew by fast in the swift summer breeze. The tall grasses ahead of them rippled like water in the wind, dappled with the great shadows cast from the clouds overhead. Far off in the distance were mountains flanked by forests that, too, seemed to disappear off into the horizon.

            It was a surprisingly short amount of time before they reached the Three Farthing Stone. Sam was amazed as he looked at the hundred foot-high white stone ruins. It seemed ancient, echoing the majesty of a long-since-forgotten age. As the hobbit approached it, Sam noticed the bits of architectural detail that he recognized from Bilbo's books. There were decorations shaped like Men, eagles, and the seven-starred White Tree. But, there were some other carvings that he did not recognize.

            "What's all that writin' around the base?" he asked Frodo, pointing at the large stone blocks that made up the tower's base. "It doesn't seem to go with the rest of the buldin', if you ask me."

            Frodo smiled. "That's not part of the original architecture." He stepped through the tall overgrowth, pushing aside the grass to reveal more writing. "See?" Sam came closer.

            "Tweenagers come here to carve their names into the rock," Frodo stated, running his fingers over the letters. "Not a very nice thing to do to something so old and beautiful, but, then again, I was never a very exciting tweenager, either."

            Sam chuckled and continued to examine the rest of the tower. The tall columns that stood upon the base supported the remains of a top story. The staircase inside was crumbling, leaving nothing but as few steps that led up to nowhere. Long, dark shadows were cast by the columns as the sun peeked in between them. Sam shielded his eyes and turned away, setting down his bulky knapsack. He stretched his arms with a loud sigh; it felt good to get that thing off of his back. Frodo and Merry had gone off to explore the ruins, but Sam reclined against its wall to bask in the sun.

            "If this is part of campin', I'm enjoyin' it already," Sam stated absent-mindedly, feeling his face warming in the sun. The breeze ruffled his ginger hair.

            "Don't be so ready to content yourself just yet," Frodo chided. "It'll get much more fun, believe me." Merry snickered in agreement.

            "Poor little Sam had no idea what he's in for."

            Sam frowned. "Surely, Mister Merry… If you keep makin' this seem like its some sort of punishment, then why do you and Mister Frodo even go on these things, if you follow me?"

            "Oh, come on!" Merry groaned. "We're just playing around with you."

            "Besides," Frodo added. "It's always nice to have a sense humor… Especially when it comes time to set up camp."

            Frodo and Merry chuckled. Sam sighed and shook his head. He couldn't help but notice how differently his master acted while around his cousin. Frodo seemed much more unrestrained and social, even to point of becoming quite cheeky. Often, when he was like that, Sam found himself often getting hurt by Frodo's uncharacteristic recklessness. Sam's naturally shy and sensitive nature was not accustomed to Frodo's new behavior. Most of the time, when Frodo had guests, Sam would be nowhere to be found. Maybe Frodo wasn't the hobbit Sam thought him to be.

            Sam let out another sigh, this time, full of exasperation. He slid lower against the wall and began to nod off. Soon, he was fast asleep. The last night had been terribly restless for him, and a nap didn't sound to bad to him at all. And, for quite a while, he was able to rest peacefully, nestled between the tall grasses that grew close to the wall.

            But it didn't take long for Frodo and Merry to realize Sam's whereabouts. They looked at each other and smiled wide, mischievous grins. Then, without a single sound they approached the sleeping tweenager. Merry impatiently shuffled up close to Sam, wanting to be the one to disturb his sleep, but Frodo stopped him from getting any closer. Frodo smirked wicked and leaned in close to Sam. He brought his face close to Sam's until their noses almost touched.

            "Sam…" he whispered. No response. "Sam… Wake up, Sam." Sam stirred slightly. Beside him, Merry was trying hard to stifle his giggles. Frodo was close to laughing, too. "Oh, Sam… Won't you wake up?"

            Frodo slipped his hand behind Sam's head and began running his fingertips over Sam's hair. "Won't you wake up for your Frodo?" he cooed warmly. "I want to see your beautiful eyes…" Sam, still asleep, stirred weakly, his cheeks slightly red. Pausing to collect himself, Frodo clenched his jaw tightly as he snickered silently. Merry was in tears.

            Frodo took a deep breath and leaned even closer to Sam. He was so close that he barely kept his lips from brushing the tip of Sam's ear. "Oh, Sam…" he whispered huskily, slowly stroking Sam's hair. "Please… Oh, Sam, please…"

            Sam blushed deeply as he felt Frodo's warm breath on his ear and his fingers in his hair. A small, shy smile set on his lips and he squirmed weakly, though still very much asleep. Frodo took his other hand to Sam's face and began to pet his burning cheek, his ashen fingers running over Sam's deeply tanned skin.

            "Please… Oooohhh, Sam… I want you…" Frodo moaned softly, breathing hot, heaving breaths onto Sam's ear. Merry was visibly dying now. "I want you, Sam… I want you…" He then pulled his face back slightly.

            "**TO WAKE UP**!" he yelled straight into Sam's ear. Sam nearly had a heart attack. Instantly, his eyes snapped open and he went flying the opposite direction.

            "Ack!" he screeched as he landed on his face in the tall grass. His heart was pounding out of his chest. Behind him, he could hear Frodo and Merry hysterically cracking up with laughter.

            "Holy-- Holy hell!" Merry gasped. "Tha-that was hilarious!"

            "Oh my god! Oh my god!" Frodo was doubled-over, tears streaming down his face. "I think-- I think I'm going to die that was so funny!"

            As they continued to roar with laughter, Sam felt himself flush darker with shame. He had never been so humiliated in his whole life. And, to make things even worse, he had made a complete and utter fool of himself at the hands of his own beloved master! A great feeling of despair consumed his entire being and he began to weep sorrowfully. Above all else, he felt betrayed. How could Frodo do such a thing to him?

            Merry was the first one to notice that Sam had started crying. He nudged at Frodo with his elbow. "Uh… Frodo…"

            Frodo was still trying to regain his breath. "Ah-- Ah, what? Wha-what is it?" Letting out another snicker, he wiped the tears away from his eyes. "Oh… Alright… What's the matter?" Merry pointed at the shivering lump that was Sam. Frodo looked over at him and his face went pallid.

            "Oh, no…" Frodo crawled over to Sam. "Sam… I… I'm so sorry…"

            Sam curled up tighter and sobbed harder. Frodo furrowed his brow worriedly.

            "Please don't cry, Sam…" Frodo said, his face marked with concern. "I was only having a little fun…" He softly laid his hand on Sam's shoulder. Almost instantly, Sam sent his arms sideways, knocking away Frodo's hand.

            "Go away," he growled furiously, his other hand covering his face. Frodo pulled his hand back, shocked at Sam's sudden anger. He was so surprised that he was in awe. Merry crept up to Sam and shook him by the shoulder.

            "Come on, Sam!" Merry pleaded. "Lighten up! Frodo was only kidding around!"

            "Leave me alone, damn it!" Sam's hand flew out and grasped Merry by the shirt collar. He jumped to his feet and dragged Merry up with him.

            "What the hell are you doing!?" Frodo cried, leaping to his feet. Merry let out a squeak as Sam had him dangling several inches off of the ground. Sam's eyes were hard and cold as tears still ran down his cheeks.

            "Put him down, Sam!" Frodo exclaimed again. Sam suddenly snapped out of his rage, his face going pale. He looked over to see Frodo's wide, blue eyes shining with shock. Sam quickly set Merry down and took a step backwards, his eyes frozen on Frodo's. Then, he felt his knees go weak and he helplessly crumpled to the ground. From his knees, he slid out over onto his stomach and just laid there, too exhausted to cry.

            "Forgive me, sir…" he murmured breathlessly. Frodo and Merry stared at the miserable hobbit-lump that laid on the ground. Neither knew what to say nor do.

            "I… I…" Frodo stammered. Sam stirred and sighed.

            "I want to sleep."

            It seemed like a fair enough request. So, Frodo dug out Sam's blanket and draped it over him. Sam nodded his head in thanks and soon was asleep again, this time, to remain undisturbed. Frodo and Merry watched Sam as he slept peacefully. Merry knew of Sam's restless night before, but he wasn't so sure Frodo did. He assumed that he didn't.

            "Ah, well…" Merry sighed, but fell silent again. Frodo laid over on his back and looked up at the sky. Merry did, too. And, for many minutes, they did nothing but stare up at the clouds that were sailing by.

            "Did you know he was going to do that?" Merry asked, breaking the silence. Frodo shook his head.

            "Not really."

            "Oh."

            The two fell silent again. Merry started to grow very bored. He looked over at Frodo. Unlike Merry, he seemed to be taking advantage of the situation and was deep in thought. Merry rolled his eyes and looked back up at the sky. A bird flew past and landed on the Stone.

            "I mean," Merry broke in again. "Just _what_ were you thinking?"

            Frodo turned over on his side. "Hmm?"

            "I think you _did_ know that he wouldn't like that," Merry continued.

            "Well… I…" Frodo thought for a moment. "I thought it would be funny if—"

            "Oh?" Merry sat up. "So you thought it would be funny, eh? _I_ would have just, oh, I don't know… cut right to the yelling in his ear part, not moan into it!" He grunted irately. "Didn't you see how you made him feel?"

            Frodo was speechless, his eyes large and shame-filled. But, quickly ignoring the fact of his guilt, he let out an annoyed humph. "I don't think you should be the one lecturing me, Merry. You're not exactly the perfect paradigm of maturity, I'll have you know."

            "It's not a matter of maturity," Merry argued. "It's about bloody common sense! You just _don't_ go messing around with people like that!"

            "You may be preaching that now, but you sure weren't doing anything to stop me from teasing him." Frodo crossed his arms over his chest. "Actually, I think you were taking great pleasure out of it."

            "Hey! I'm just the cousin here! I'm not the one who's his friend!"

            "Then why are you so bloody concerned about it?"

            Merry growled. "Oh, you know what I mean!" 

            While Frodo and Merry continued arguing, Sam was woken up again. He blinked sleepily and reached over into his knapsack. Drawing out his weskit, he wadded it up and threw it at Frodo and Merry.

            "Quiet down, will you?" he inquired tiredly as the vest hit them in their faces. Instantly, they stopped quibbling.

            "Sorry, Sam," they both apologized at once. They stopped to look at each other confusedly, and then looked back over at Sam, who was already starting to fall asleep again. Right then, they both decided to stay quiet and not wake Sam up again.

            "Wake me up when it's time to leave, alright?" Sam requested before he pulled the blanket back over his shoulders. He let out a drowsy sigh and felt himself nod off. He secretly hoped that they would actually let him wake up by himself, because, to Sam, there was nothing crueler than a rude awakening.

---

Not done yet! Another chapter!


	4. Chapter Four: Yoaruki ::Walking Around a...

Okay…

---

Sure enough, Sam woke up many hours later, by himself and fully rested. Judging by the color of the sky and the shadow cast by the Stone, it was late afternoon. He sat up and stretched his arms, which, as he realized just then, were rather sore. He vowed that, next time, he fall asleep on a bedroll. Shire soil tended to be rather rough on the back.

            He turned over to see that Frodo and Merry had fallen asleep. Their pipes laid beside them, hinting that they had tried to entertain themselves with a little pipeweed sometime before they fell asleep. Sam shook his head as he gazed at the two elderhobbits.

_Those two…_

            Sam then came to realize his painfully empty stomach. It had been long, too long by hobbit standards, since any of them had eaten anything. So Sam decided to start dinner. Nothing helped bring feuding hobbits together better than food.

            Once he had gotten a fire going, Sam set to preparing the food. A rasher of bacon would do the trick to wake them up. Digging around in his knapsack, he produced a bottle of oil (an essential for cooking on the road). He poured it into the frying pan, and it hit the hot metal with a loud hissing noise, sending up a cloud of steam. Quickly throwing a gaze in Frodo and Merry's direction, Sam saw them stir slightly in their sleep, but not wake up. He smiled contently and laid the slices of bacon into the frying pan. He allowed them to sizzle in the oil for a few minutes, watching them pop and crackle. Then, glancing about furtively, he deftly reached into the pan and plucked one of the pieces right of the oil. He blew on it to cool it off and popped it in his mouth, chewing on it gleefully. Merry was, of course, the first to wake up.

            "Food!" he exclaimed, quickly getting to his feet and dashing over to Sam's side. "Food! Food! Huzzah!"

            "Whuh?" Frodo mumbled, half awake. "Foo?"

            "Food!" Merry squealed in delight. Frodo instantly snapped awake and hopped up next to Sam.

            "How splendid!" he grinned widely. "I had forgotten completely about eating. My, am I starved!"

            "And I certainly won't let you stay that, sir," Sam replied, handing Frodo the first slice. Frodo enthusiastically ate it up.

            "Come on, come on!" Merry whined. "I'm hungry, too!"

            "Hold your horses, Mister Merry," Sam stated. "One hobbit at a time." Sam unhurriedly tended to the cooking bacon while Merry grew more and more impatient.

            "Certainly quick to service Frodo—"

            Just then, before he could properly finish griping, he found a slice of bacon thrust into his hands. He looked at it, then at Sam, but ate it anyway.

            The three hobbits continued to eat their meal in peace and the obvious sense of joy over, well, food. Even though it was simple, it was delicious. After they finished, they shared a little more pipeweed and watched the sky slowly grow dark.

            "So," Frodo said, taking a small puff on his pipe. "What do you think we should do next?"

            Sam inhaled deeply on his pipe. "Where can we—" He suddenly broke off into a series of coughs. He had just started learning how to smoke and he didn't quite have the full swing of it yet. "Ack, ack! Aggh… Pardon me, sir. As I was sayin', where can we go?"

            Frodo rooted around in his knapsack and drew out a small leather-bound tube. From out of it he pulled a rolled-up parchment. He stretched it out on the grass. It was a map of the Shire. He pointed at the dot marking the Three Farthings Stone.

            "We're here," he stated. "As you can see, there are several towns relatively near-by, excluding Bywater." He pointed to other cities on the map. "Waymoot and Frogmorton are right on the East Road. Tuckborough and Pincup are close, but located on the Green Hills. It's already late afternoon, so if we tried to make for any of these towns, we would be to any either of them after midnight." He looked up at Sam. "You see, Sam, your little nap has put us in a tough place. Trying to find an inn at one of these towns would be very hard after midnight (you would be mad if you tried pitching a tent when it's absolutely dark out). The problem is if we stayed here, or went back to either Bywater or Bag End, we would have to wait around until we felt tired again. That means we would wake up late, try to go out again, and not get very far at all." He paused. "Basically, we're stuck."

            He sighed and sat back, allowing Sam and Merry to ponder for a moment.

            "Maybe we can keep going, sir," Sam proposed. "It's very lovely out and we wouldn't be needin' a tent, if you follow me."

            Merry nodded in agreement. "How about it, Frodo? You and I never tried hiking at night. Who knows…? It might be fun."

            Frodo repeated Merry's last word. "Fun…" He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know… I'm feeling pretty lucky." He thought for a second, taking another smoke on his pipe. "Sure, why not?"

            "Anything to get away from this Stone," Merry said, looking over his shoulder at the ruins. "It's such an eyesore. And it's giving me the creeps!" He shuddered.

            "Do you fellows want to go south, then?" Frodo asked. "That's not near Buckland." Merry smiled and nodded in agreement. "So, let's see how far we can go, shall we?"

            Frodo was, on the other hand, a little skeptical. With the way things had been going over the past two days, this whole trip was teetering precariously, hanging off a thread. One wrong move from any one of them could mean the ruin of the entire trip, and, heaven forbid, someone's psyche. So, he was very adamant in resolve to prevent anything else bad from happening.

            The three hobbits shouldered their knapsacks and set off from the Three Farthing Stone. They were planning on going due south until they hit the Green Hills, and then turn west to Tuckborough, perhaps stopping off at the Tooks' before taking the north road to the East back to Hobbiton. The land they were going to go through was loose farmland with houses few and far between. It would rolling foothills, helping spread out the time they would take getting to Tuckborough and keeping it from being a straight, boring foot march. They had also chosen a leisurely pace at which to take all this. Merry certainly didn't want to hurry; the longer the time they took, the longer the time away from Brandy Hall he would be.

            Twilight crept across the western Shire sky. Stars began lighting up one by one like candles hanging in the heavens. Soon, the chirping of the crickets filled the heavy summer air and it was evening at last. The hobbits marched wordlessly as night set around them. It was peaceful and tranquil.

            Merry yawned. "Can we stop now?" It was getting darker as he spoke, though the stars and moon shone brightly. "I'm tired." He sat down where he was, letting the knapsack slide off of his shoulders. Frodo sighed and joined him, and was immediately followed by Sam.

            "This is a good enough spot," Frodo pointed out, rubbing his back after taking his knapsack off. "Ah… I shouldn't have brought so much…"

            "Do you want me to carry somethin' for you, Mister Frodo?" Sam piped up eagerly. Frodo knew he was going to do that.

            "No," Frodo replied as he eyed Sam's knapsack, the tent protruding out quite saliently. "You certainly have enough to carry yourself." He patted the ground next to him. "Come sit. Take that silly thing off of your back." He reached for his water canteen and unscrewed the cap. Sam had not moved, but rather seemed to be waiting for something. Shaking his head, Frodo turned the other way and took a long swig. Sam leaned over and grabbed Frodo's knapsack. Weighing it, the knapsack seemed very light by his standards.

            "It wouldn't be a problem at all, sir," he stated matter-of-factly. He let out a small, amused chuckle. "Actually, I could carry the whole thing." Frodo looked up from his canteen with a very straight, commanding look. Sam's grin melted off his face and he timidly placed both his and Frodo's packs onto the ground. He then sat down beside his master with a long sigh. Suddenly, before he knew it, he found the canteen being offered to him.

            "Here, Sam." Frodo sloshed it around. "I can't believe you drank your whole canteen already. Are you sure you're not carrying too much?"

            Sam blushed and shook his head. "Y-Yes, Mister Frodo, sir." He then stared at the canteen in Frodo's hands.

            "Go on," Frodo smiled. "You must be very thirsty." He placed the canteen in Sam's hands. Looking at it and back at Frodo, Sam slowly raised it to his face and stopped. He had no choice but to drink from it, even if Frodo's lips had been on it or not. So, Sam took a small sip, feeling the water wet against his dry lips. His eyes flitted nervously back to Frodo's and he took a bigger swig. Sam was indeed quite thirsty, much to his surprise. When he was finished, he recapped it and gave it back to Frodo.

            "Thank you, sir," Sam stated sheepishly, blushing. Frodo grinned and put the canteen back in his knapsack.

            "That's good." 

            As they set out their bedrolls, they realized that Merry was already fast asleep. Frodo smiled and pulled the blanket over his sleeping cousin. Merry gave out a tired mumble and turned over in his sleep. Frodo sighed, laying back on his bedroll. Sam was still sitting up on his, but he seemed to be deep in thought. Frodo looked at him, at his distant, brown eyes.

            "You know, Sam," he said after a long silence. Sam suddenly snapped back to reality. He looked over at Frodo quickly.

            "Yes, Mister Frodo?"

            Frodo sat up. "You know, Sam," he repeated. "I think you do some things only to impress me." Sam looked shocked, his eyes going wide and his face flushing darkly.

            "S-Sir?"

            "It's a curious thing," Frodo continued. "I know I'm not forcing you to do all these outrageous things. It seems more like you take them upon your own whim."

            Sam still did not follow. "I-I'm not wholly sure what you're sayin', sir."

            "I'm not saying that you're trying to show off, Sam."  Frodo shook his head. "You are way too modest for that. It does seem, though, you are constantly trying to prove yourself to me."

            Knowing he had to reply, Sam hung his head and exhaled a light sigh. "I always want to make sure you know that I'm doin' my best for you."

            Frodo frowned in concern. "Did I ever say you weren't?"  He placed his hands on Sam's shoulders and looked into his reluctant face. "Sam, I don't think you should ever worry about that. All I'm saying is that you're—"

            "Too zealous, right?" Sam cut in tersely, leaving Frodo speechless.

            "N-Not exactly…"

            Sam let out an aggravated humph and tightly folded his arms across his chest. "Well, whether you think it's proper or no, I am willin' to do more for you than you would ever dare imagine. Tis nary an obligation on your part, nor a whim, as you put it. All that it is that I feel you deserve more than you give credit."

            Frodo knew better than to question Sam like this, but when it came to the integrity of their master/ servant relationship, he always found himself in a corner. His servitude to Frodo was the single thing Sam was the most serious about. Such an encroachment upon it guaranteed a very bitter response from Sam, indeed.

            "Please don't get me wrong, Sam," Frodo replied defensively, silently praying Sam would stop overreacting. "I'm not doubting you for a moment. Why must you become so offended whenever I bring this sort of thing up?"

            "Forgive me, sir, but I thought you would have learned that by now."

            "True…"

            "I sincerely hope so.

            "But, then again," Frodo continued. "You've been like that ever since you were a small lad." Sam seemed to be shrunken back behind his blanket, blushing sheepishly. Frodo tried smiling reassuringly, but he stilled sensed Sam's great distress.

            "I'm not scolding you," Frodo cooed, his brow furrowed. "I know it's natural for you to go the extra mile when you do anything for me. I hope I'm not making it seem like you must do everything like that, am I?"

            "Beggin' your pardon, sir," Sam mumbled shyly. "But you know that I enjoy doin' my best to please you." He straightened up, stately sticking his chest out. "It's my duty."

            "It's not your duty to slave over me like you do," Frodo replied while he let out an anxious laugh. "For example, you did not need to carry the entire tent. We could have split it up."

            "It's not a problem, really, Mister Frodo," Sam reassured him quickly, shaking his head and hands. "There's no need to worry yourself over me, sir."

            Frodo smiled reluctantly. "It's just that you are almost too selfless and passionate in what you do. At home, you're always milling about, never stopping except for a quick meal. And, sometimes, you're even out in the worst of weather, risking illness." There came a reluctant pause and he slipped a quick look at Sam's face, right at his great, brown eyes. "But with you, it isn't just that. There's something much more." He gave Sam a very sincere, very serious look. "I have the feeling you'll wind up hurting yourself someday."

            "W-What, sir?" Sam tried exceedingly hard to keep himself from yelling in disbelief. "What would make you say that, sir, if you don't mind me askin'?"

            Frodo just smiled nervously and quietly chuckled to himself. "Never mind, Sam," he stated, shaking his head and laughing uneasily, though he seemed to do it to himself. "It… It's nothing."

            Sam nodded his head weakly, mouthing the word "oh". Frodo quietly laid back down and turned his back to Sam while he drew the blanket around his shoulders. Drawing his knees under his chin, Sam sighed restlessly and stared ahead into the deepening night. He watched the black silhouettes of the trees sway back and forth hypnotically as staggered, erratic gusts of wind swept over them. Their slow dance only made Sam even more restless, and he stood up.

            "I'm goin' for a stroll, if it's alright, Mister Frodo." His master stirred and vaguely nodded his head. He heard Sam walk off, his footfall diminishing behind the breeze. In the back of his mind, there was a small, chiding voice that nagged about Sam wandering off too far.

            Frodo sighed softly. "I care about you more than you know, Sam." Nestling against his bedroll, he pulled the floppy wool blanket up to his neck and waited patiently for sleep to come.

            As Sam ambled through the grass, he felt it brush up against his ankles and create a very annoying tickling sensation. The moon, though still quite full, was hidden from the sky, covered by clouds that had just started rolling in. He looked up at the sky above him, taking a moment to simply look. The farther he looked into the stars, the more that would appear. He gazed deeper and deeper until he realized he had been standing there for quite some time, just staring. Imagining how stupid he must have looked, he took his eyes off of the heavens and continued walking aimlessly off into the meadow.

            "It's useless to stare at somethin' so pretty that you're never goin' to have," he mumbled sullenly under his breath. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he shuffled slowly through the field, his head hanging morosely.

            Why was he so upset? Frodo talked to him like that all the time, so why was it bothering him now? Sam couldn't stand the notion of being a nuisance to his master; that would completely shatter him. After all, he had always tried to be an outstanding servant for Mister Frodo, doing everything he bid and even more, and always, always trying to please. The thought of Frodo considering him bothersome and, even worse, useless was more than he could possibly bear.

            Sam kicked irately at a loose clump of dirt. "Damn it!" he growled, sending the dirt flying with considerable force. Where could Frodo get off with thinking that? Sam did nothing but better than his abilities to please his master, and what does he get in return? Humiliation, parent-like nagging, and that damned childish treatment. Sure, Sam was still a tweenager, but nobody, not even Mister Frodo himself, had the right to treat him like he was still "just a lad".

            Suddenly, Sam's anger froze. Those words reminded him of his life back at home with his siblings and his father. Now that his mother was no longer around, life around the house became even more stressful. The only other hobbit younger than him was Daisy, but she was a girl. Sam was a lad, expected to be able to work at a moment's notice, toil in any kind of weather regardless of how important or necessary the task really was. "Always do as your master tells ye," his dad would say. "Remember that. He's your master and you're his servant, not his friend. An' if he says he ain't got anythin' for you to do, or thinks you're doin' too much for him, he's only tryin' to go easy on you. You're a strong lad, Sam. You don't need anyone's pity."

            His older brothers didn't offer any more encouragement than his father, either. Most of all, his eldest brother, Hamson, was the most abusive. "Aye," he would say. "You don't need any pity because you don't deserve it! You wouldn't imagine how hard Da works us, while you get to loaf around all day with Mister Frodo. Fortunately, our masters ain't as cracked as yours, the bloody madman, and we get paid for doin' actual work, not lazin' about and readin' silly Elvish gibberish."

            "Don't you go talking about Mister Frodo like that!" Sam would retort. Hamson would laugh, looking down on his youngest brother.

            "The only reason you're even workin' for that loon is because Da doesn't want any of _us_ gettin' involved with him." Sam's brown eyes would widen in disbelief at his words. "Da worked for Mister Bilbo," he would continue. "An' even he said he was off of it. But his cousin, that skinny, pale Buckland lad… There's somethin' truly wrong with that boy." Hamfast would watch in wicked amusement as Sam struggled between rage and shock at what he was hearing. 

"They say, after his parents died, he went so mad they had to kick him out of Brandy Hall. He's supposed to be as angry as hell, lashing out at anybody he can get his hands on. An' then he turns around an' starts weepin' like a lass. An' they also say he takes to cuttin' himself up in the dark an' bleedin' 'til he's half dead… too cowardly to right kill himself, too cowardly to even see his own blood spillin' out his veins."

            Sam would nearly be in tears. "T-That's not true… Mister Frodo's a kind and gentle person… H-He'd never act like that…"

            But Hamson would only nod his head and grin. "You're just a stupid, little boy, Sam. How could _you_ possibly think him bad? You spend too much time fawnin' over him like some love-struck lass an' not enough time keepin' your thoughts (an' eyes) on your work." Another crooked smirk would cross his face and he would tower above him, making him seem smaller and smaller until he was able to sense his unease. "An', if you're not careful, you're goin' to start feelin' up over him."

            Sam's face would drain of all color, his eyes going as wide as saucers. "Wha-What…?" he would squeak, his voice cracking as his throat braced against stifled sobs. Tears would already be gleaming in his eyes and threatening to spill out over his sallow cheeks. Then, before he would know it, he'd be with his back against the wall, cornered like an injured animal, cowering beneath Hamson's acrid stare.

            For a moment, Hamson would just watch this, saying nothing as his brother clung to the wall. Sam could tell that there was a great deal of iniquity, as well as horrible sadistic pleasure, in those eyes as they bore into him. An amused grin would cross Hamson's face, and he tossed his head aside.

            "Heh. Pathetic. You're almost as bad as 'im. 'Tis a sad thought such a weak creature has been born into my family. Maybe it would've been better if he just stayed on that bloody boat… Or better yet… You _an'_ him in that fire." He would turn around and start to walk away. "There's _somethin'_ that wants to keep that stupid bleeder alive and why is certainly beyond me—"

            Hamson's statement would dwindle off as he turned around to see his brother cautiously advancing on him, the rage now visible on his face. Hamson would then smirk amusedly, still remaining calm even after Sam had given him a powerful blow into the jaw. However, it would only glance off, not even making Hamson give so much as a stagger. Sam looked on in horror to see that his attack was completely ineffectual and now his brother was smiling evilly. He would then be overcome with crushing dread, watching a drop of blood roll down Hamson's insensitive face.

            "Bloody, little fucker."

            With one, fluid movement, Hamson would step forward and swiftly bring his hand across Sam's face, and not wasting a single moment, then deliver him a hefty punch in the stomach. The dizzying pain brought Sam to his knees, but a final, powerful kick in the side from Hamson would finally cause him to collapse completely.

            "If there's one thing I can't stand more than your damn bastard of a master," Hamson would state as he stood towering over Sam's pain-ridden body. "Would be _you _tryin' to stand up for yourself."

            "Go find yourself a girlfriend," he would say with a cruel chuckle, and then leave Sam to black out in his nauseating pain.

            All of Sam's life, it seemed like his father and brothers were never on his side. To them, he was still "just a lad"

            All those sayings drove him like a whip, subconsciously lashing out at him whenever he felt himself go out of line. He despised every word, yet he willingly let them drive him, control him. Sam was convinced he was still just a lad, completely devoid of any self-control or humility. The instant he would lose track of himself, let his defenses down, he was certain he would create disaster. So, like a triggered trap, the reprimanding words would spring from his mind and cast him back in place, like a stray soldier being thrown back into rank. By now, he had beaten himself hollow because of how many times he had to chastise himself. But the words still stung like poison every time he found his thoughts drifting about Frodo. Poison they were, indeed, and his system could not stand it for much longer. His master, the one whom he loved with all his heart, only brought him pain; a deep, venomous pain, dark with injustice and sorrow.

            _It shouldn't hurt so much to love someone… It shouldn't…It shouldn't…_

            "…I wish it wouldn't," he mumbled out loud, dejected. Heaving a sigh, he sniffled and idly brushed the tears away from under his eyes.

            With that, he stopped to look at his surroundings. And sure enough, he was lost. He slumped his shoulders and sighed miserably, innately putting his hands into his pockets and making off in the opposite direction in which he had just come. All that thinking had completely worn him out, both physically and mentally. So as he gradually wandered back to camp, he was too tired and depressed to think anymore.

            Before he knew it, he was back. Both Frodo and Merry were fast asleep. Sam stood there motionless for a few moments. It would have seemed like he was pondering about something, but he was not. Instead, he stepped over to his knapsack, pulled out his bedroll, and went back to the other side of the camp to sleep. After he laid down, he turned his head and saw the other two many yards away. He became rather sad and looked away again. It was a bit cold out now, but he didn't really care anymore, so he fell asleep shivering.

---

Right-o.


End file.
